A Funeral March
by saerenae
Summary: Victory over the titans has been won, but at what price?


There was something beautiful about how the cold, midnight air wafted in through the open balcony doors, the blue moonlight spilling over the ivory keys of a pristine grand piano. It was probably one of the last in such impeccable condition, for it was all but useless in the harsh world of the scouting regiment. Despite that simple truth, there stood an object of a distant, legend world, defiant in its obvious anachronism. The tortured soul that silently sat before the piano was no less misplaced in time.

Humanity had been crushed to the brink of extinction, and hope had been close to lost before that child had appeared. Amongst the confusion and despair, hope and fear flared and eventually gave way to victory. It was a victory that was not easily achieved with anything other than massive sacrifice, but it was victory nonetheless. So many had lost beyond their fair share, but here he was. The infamous captain had survived against all odds and was paying for it dearly in his solitude.

Levi's only comfort was the ease with which his fingers glided over the delicate keys, creating a world beyond the defeated titans and insufferable loss of his soldiers-his comrades. He had no idea how or when this skill had embedded itself into his muscles, but he was thankful he was able to create something other than destruction.

There was a light pull in his mind that signaled his exhaustion, something he'd grown used to over the years and something that let him know he was, somehow, still attached to the world of the living. Behind his closed eyelids he could see the faces of those brats that had managed to worm themselves into what he had left of a heart, bringing a pang of uncomfortable emotion to the surface of his consciousness.

What point was there to victory if he had no one to share it with? They were gone. Isabel and Farlan. Petra, Gunther, Eld, and Oluo. They'd been gone for a while, but it didn't mean the pain had dulled. It was the newest pain that had him reeling, though: the pain of his young squad sacrificing themselves unhesitatingly for the hope that humanity would live on instead of surviving to see the new world they had given way to.

He could see them still in his mind's eye, saluting him with a smile in their victory, their cleanliness giving way to glassy eyes and blood soaked uniforms. The wings of freedom were chained then left to fend for themselves. The one that had saved them all had been executed simply for not being completely human. The executioner himself had argued for Eren's freedom, but was denied without so much as a blink of an eye.

The melody beneath Levi's fingers grew dark as he withdrew from the vision, and he could feel his fingers slipping as though the keys were wet. He could sense the presence of another soul on the other side of the door, but ignored it and continued the piece he vaguely remembered being a funeral march by someone named Mozart.

How perfect for the occasion.

He could see Eren's dull green eyes as the brat stared up at Levi awaiting the inevitable. That little shit didn't even have the comfort of having a living comrade to shout out for him in an angry protest to the injustice that was to befall him.

Not Mikasa. Not Armin. Hell, not even Jean.

All the kid had left was his captain. The executioner, humanity's strongest, who Eren believed would never betray him, was to end the boy that had been most beneficial in humanity's victory over the damned titans. Those once vibrant green eyes had dulled in the same realization Levi had made: victory was pointless when unable to celebrate it with the people who fought so passionately beside you.

Then again, the kid wasn't even permitted the opportunity to celebrate at all before he was captured. Flashes of blood across the cobblestone painted the back of Levi's eyelids in a vivid nightmare of a memory as he recalled his quiet apology and final farewell to the very last member of his squad.

Wishing to eradicate the sight from his eyes, he opened them to a blurry vision. The once pristine ivory was coated in red, his fingers still dancing over the keys, but not quite as elegantly.

How odd.

There was a quiet rap at the door, but Levi pushed it to the side as he tried to focus his gaze. His eyes were growing heavier and his movements less controlled. More than once his fingers stumbled over the keys in a discordant mess of noise as he slowly lowered his head.

The frantic voice of Hange as she discovered his self-inflicted state made him realize that, at some point, he must have stopped playing to place his forehead on the blood soaked keys. How unclean of him. He should wipe it off, but perhaps after a short rest, for the exhaustion was too much for him to handle.

Hange's voice started to fade, her pleas for him to open his eyes growing dull to his ears. It was as though with every pulse of his heart, he grew weaker. He supposed it made sense, but it was far too kind and peaceful of an end for him.

The silence, not disturbed by even a heartbeat or a breath for air, was shattered by the all too familiar, but long gone voice of Petra.

"Welcome home, captain."


End file.
